Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance

by Laurelin Paige

  This time my ego speaks before I can silence it. “Thoughts of me?”

  She ignores my interruption. “And then you whispered those crude words. How was I supposed to think strategy after that? Do you not realize how important this opportunity with Werner Media is for me?”

  Actually, I hadn’t really thought about it. I wish I had, and I want to rectify that now.

  Before she crosses by the bed again, I stand up and pull out the chair from the desk. “Can you sit please? You’re making me dizzy.” Actually, her pacing is adorable, but it’s keeping her wound up, and I want her calmed down.

  She stops short in front of it. “Fine.” With a reluctant sigh, she sits.

  I move around to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Okay. I’ll admit that I did encourage some bad behavior. I take full blame for speaking inappropriately.” I don’t remind her she’d started it by practically grabbing my goods. “I do not take the blame for you taking off your panties, however—”

  She shoots to a stand. “I knew you were going to bring that up. I make one bloody mistake, and you’re throwing it back in my face. That’s your fault too, you know. It wasn’t like they were doing any good anyway. They practically melted off the minute you showed up looking like a crumpet in your black tie.”

  “Crumpet is a good thing, right?” There’s that damn ego again.

  And now she’s resumed pacing.

  “The point is that I have spent years focused on nothing but earning a place at Accelecom. All of college, my postgraduate work, my entire twenty-three years of being alive, has all led to right now. To this opportunity.”

  “Sit down, and we can talk about that.”

  She sits and crosses one leg over the other, bouncing the top one in a frantic rhythm. “Talk about what? How I’ve managed to go from no libido to hyper-drive in the course of one day? How I don’t recognize myself anymore? How I’m more caught up in when you’re going to touch me again than in what I’m going to do to get Accelecom this job?”

  Again, she springs up from her seat. “Talking to you doesn’t help. It just makes it worse.” She’s back to pacing and fretting. “I was fine after that first night. One-night stands are supposed to be one night for a reason. Then, today, you had to muck it up by being charming and amazing with your monster dick. This is your fault! Every bit of it.”

  “Genny. Sit down.” I’m as surprised as she is at the command in my tone.

  Needless to say, it works. She sits.

  “If you can’t stay put, I’ll tie you to the chair.” Damn, where did that come from?

  “Ha. I dare you.”

  Uh, did she really just dare me? Because that’s some bullshit if she thinks I can ignore the underlying invitation, and suddenly, I not only want to see her tied up—I need to.

  Without explanation, I stand and start stripping my belt from its loops.

  “Chandler!” Her exclamation seems to be as much thrill as admonishment.

  “Don’t worry. Monster’s staying put,” I assure her. “But so are you.” I circle around her, assessing. The easiest would be to strap her torso and arms to the back of the chair, but I’m not sure the belt is long enough, and besides, her hands would still be free.

  “Give me your wrists,” I say after a minute. Surprisingly, she does so, reaching back around the sides of the chair.

  Admittedly, I have no idea what I’m doing. Here’s to faking it.

  I wrap one wrist in the leather, threading the strap through the metal buckle and pulling it tight. Then I weave the end through the middle slat of the chair and around her other wrist before looping back to where I started. There’s enough length to do it one more time.

  When I’ve finished, I pull on her wrists, and shockingly, they’re secure.

  Pleased with myself, I move back around to face her, and wow. I’d really meant it when I’d said I’d keep it in my pants, but all of a sudden I’m regretting making such a promise because she looks good.

  And since my crotch is not too far below her eye level, she notices what’s going on down there. I swear to god, she bites her lip. Like that’s going to help.

  Actually, it kind of does. Now we’re both aroused, but I have the upper hand.

  I adjust myself and settle on the bed facing her. “Okay. Now let’s talk.” I lean back on my elbows, partly because I’m a giant narcissist, and I want her to have a full view of my hard-on. Also partly because the position gives me a perfect view. With her arms behind her back, her tits protrude like fruit ripe and dangling. It’s all I can do not to eat her for a midnight snack. “This having you tied up, though, is quite spectacular.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Do you have to ogle?” She feigns disgust.

  Trust me—she’s feigning. I know.

  “Shut up,” I tell her, reaching my foot out to wrap around the leg of the chair so I can pull her closer. “You like it. Your skin gets splotchy and pink when you’re turned on.”

  Her blush deepens. “But that’s the problem, Chandler. You do turn me on. And I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for you.”

  “You don’t have time for me because I’m a distraction,” I say, validating what she’d said earlier. “But what if I can also help you?”

  “How?”

  I work my jaw back and forth as I consider. “We’ve already determined it was good to keep your ideas to yourself tonight. And what you did share was quite excellent.”

  “My father doesn’t think so.”

  “So your father is never going to steal that angle. It’s not good for his company, anyway. It’s only a viable plan for a bigger corporation like Pierce Industries. Luckily, someone who matters heard the idea and thinks it’s really innovative.” I wink.

  She furrows her brow and frowns. “Who? Nathan Murphy?”

  “No. Me.” Duh.

  Irritating woman that she is, she laughs. My ego shrivels back in on itself, and I can’t decide if I want to choke her or kiss the fuck out of her.

  Maybe both.

  “You know what? Suck my dick.” I adjust myself. Again.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, recovering. “You just. You didn’t even know you owned Werner Media until I told you.”

  “True. But it’s my brother you need to win, right? I have pull with him.”

  “Do you?” This time she’s not making fun—she’s sincerely asking.

  “Yes. I do.” I think. Maybe. “He’s the one who sent me to that dinner tonight, you know.” I’m trying to convince myself as much as her.

  “And you spent it trying to get to know Nathan Murphy.” Realization crosses her features. “Oh! Are you courting him?”

  “Give me your foot,” I say, trying to distract her from the question but also just needing to touch her.

  “You are courting him!” she says, obliging me with her foot in my lap.

  I sit up and take it in my hands, massaging my thumb into the ball. Her feet are dainty, but her skin is calloused and tough, and because it’s something new and interesting about her, I find it hot as hell. “Were you a dancer?” I ask.

  “I’m a runner. My feet are gross. Now tell me about Nathan Murphy.”

  “I think they’re sexy.” I bend down and draw her big toe in my mouth to prove it.

  She tries to pull it away, but I don’t let her.

  “Nathan. Murphy.” She attempts to make it sound like she’s frustrated that I haven’t told her, but the way her breathing has quickened and the way her eyes have gone dark and liquid, I can tell she’s also just frustrated from this foot rub.

  I, however, pretend like sucking on her bits is no big deal.

  Spoiler: It is. I’m fucking lead.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss Nathan Murphy,” I concede. “But I am at liberty to tell you that I will speak highly of you to Hudson. Is that what you want?” Carefully, I raise my eyes to hers, a little unsure what I’ll find when they meet.

  Confusion. Excitement. Fear. That’s what I see. The
same things I heard in her voice earlier, and it’s like her gaze is a mirror of all the ways she makes me feel.

  Oh, but we’re talking about work. Yes. Right.

  “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says, sighing, and I pretend that it’s mostly from what my thumb is doing to the bottom of her foot.

  “Yes, you do. Tell me.”

  She chews on the inside of her lip while she thinks. “I want to follow in my father’s footsteps. I want him to bring me on as a major player in his company. I want Accelecom to merge with Werner Media, and I want to have a position where I can implement progressive concepts and take the industry in a new direction.”

  I nod, encouragingly, despite what I’m about to say. “I hate to break it to you,” I set her foot down and reach for the other, “but I don’t think I’m the one standing in your way of your ambitious goals.”

  “I know. It’s my father. And Hagan.” She sighs again, and this time it’s complete discouragement. “He’s actually a really smart guy, even when he acts like a prat. It’s just frustrating that my father only sees his achievements and only hears his ideas.”

  “Yeah, that is frustrating.” The thing is, I get it. “Not that I know what you go through exactly, but I do know a thing or two about being in a sibling’s shadow.”

  She tilts her head and stares at me. “I imagine you do. At least you don’t have your gender working against you.”

  “You’re right. I can’t know what that’s like, but I have to say, I kind of even live in the shadow of my sister. She was pushed and supported and championed through her entire life.”

  “And now she works in fashion? A ‘female appropriate field’? Not the same.”

  “Well, yes, but she started off in business. Mom and Dad groomed her to take a seat at Pierce Industries, just like Hudson. And gender is still at play because, when she decided to do something else, they didn’t bat an eye. Do you know what they’d do if I didn’t want to work in the family business? I doubt they’d be so understanding.”

  She frowns. “Do you not want to work in the family business?”

  “No. I do. I like the job.” I like it more than I let on, actually. I love the adrenaline and the maneuvering and the ideas. It’s as thrilling as driving my car fast when I’m up in the country. Don’t even ask how many tickets I’ve gotten—I can barely count. Thank god I’m in with the traffic judge, or I might not have a license.

  But it’s also frustrating. The job, not the tickets, though those are a pain in the ass too. “I’m trying to say that I’ve also encountered expectations revolving around gender. And I’ve been discounted and overlooked. My family doesn't take me seriously. I’m just the baby. The cute one. The spoiled one. The one who gets everything handed to him. Sometimes I think everyone just expects me to be Hudson’s lackey forever. My father acts like I’m a joke. My mother probably hopes I’ll marry well—probably assumes I have to, unlike my brother who was elite enough to fall for who he wanted. Marry well, breed, and learn how to play a good golf game. Those are my prospects.”

  She pulls her foot away to kick my chest. “Stop it. Your family sees you as more than that.”

  I shake my head. “Why would they? I don’t head Pierce Industries’ top accounts. Anything innovative I’ve brought to the table has usually been dismissed. The only press write-ups I’ve ever received have remarked on my social life rather than my business efforts. I don’t know why they’d expect me to amount to much more than that.” This is all stuff I’ve felt for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never told anyone. It’s odd sharing it now with Genevieve—she’s someone I should be trying to impress. She doesn't need to think that I’m a loser.

  Strangely though, when I tell her, she doesn’t make me feel like I’m a loser. “That’s absurd,” she says. “I’ve spent very little time with you, and I already know you’re more than that. You’re quick and witty, good under pressure, can improvise in sticky situations. Those are skills that can’t be taught. You either have them or you don’t.”

  Our eyes meet and though I’ve looked at her like this before, this time it’s different. This time her gaze pulls at something in my chest. Makes me feel like I’m exploding and crumbling in on myself all at once.

  If I were as fair and as prone to blushing as she was, I’d be bright red right now.

  I duck my head. Focus on massaging her ankle. Tease her instead. “All these nice things you keep saying about me. It’s like you like me.”

  “Oh, sod off.”

  “Look, you can admit it. We just discussed how liking me is actually not a problem. I’m not going to get in the way of you and your goals. In fact, I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  “Helping me work off my frustration in public bathrooms is not what I need right now.”

  “No, princess Genny.” I use her father’s nickname mixed with mine just to poke at her. “I’ll help you with Hudson.”

  Shit. What am I saying?

  I have no idea why I keep offering Hudson as a token of my affection. I already know he’s not keen on Accelecom, and I’d be fooling myself to think that the ideas brought forth by a twenty-three-year-old woman—yes, gender does matter in this business—will be enough to persuade him to take another look.

  Yet when she asks, “Got any plan how to pull that off?” I wrack my brain for a solution.

  “Actually, I do.” I rest my hand on her ankle and lean forward. “Remember that date I want to take you on? That’s happening. I want to see you bright and early on Saturday.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not going out on a date with you. I already told you that a mill—”

  I cut her off. “It won’t actually be a date.” Well, it will be as far as I’m concerned, but anyway. “It will be an opportunity. I’m taking you to my parents’ vacation home in the Hamptons for the weekend. They’re having their annual end of summer/Labor Day party, and this year it’s also where Hudson and Alayna are presenting their new babies to their friends and family. It will be a perfect chance for him to get to know you on a personal basis.” It’s brilliant. I can’t believe I thought of it. “If we play our cards right, we might even be able to steal him for a few minutes of business talk.”

  She squints at me, hesitant. “You’re sure your brother won’t mind?”

  “No, he loves business talk no matter the time or location. Even when he’s not working, he’s working.”

  She delivers a kick that lands awfully close to my family jewels. “I meant, are you sure he won’t mind me intruding on your family’s holiday?”

  “You won’t be intruding. You’ll be coming as my date.” And, yeah, that’s the real impetus behind this idea. Sure, I want her to get what she wants with her career, but I also want her with me. I want her to meet my family. I want everyone to meet her.

  “Chandler Pierce’s date.” She tilts her head like she’s mulling it over. “Will I be photographed in the rags?”

  Let me pause to say that I’ve had pictures taken with many women. Many, many, many women. It’s not a big thing.

  But at the mention of being photographed with her? I’m into that. I’m so into it, I’ll hire my own photographer if that’s the only way to make it happen.

  Problem is, I don’t think she feels the same. Luckily, for her, it’s not an issue. “There won’t be any media at this. It’s low-key. It’s family and close friends.”

  “So I’m only posing as a date in front of them? I guess that might be acceptable.”

  I ignore the disappointment that she doesn’t want to flaunt a relationship that doesn’t exist between each other the way that I do and remind myself that this is just the first step in winning her over. Maybe. Hopefully.

  “But fair warning—there will be a lot of people at this thing. We might not get to talk to Hudson. If that’s the case, are you going to blame me for distracting you from your career goals?”

  She raises her chin, and if her hands were untied, I imagine she’d put her hand over he
r heart—is that something Brits do too? “On my honor, I will not.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  “But not really a date.”

  “Exactly.” Or not exactly at all, but it’s fine.

  And then, because it seems like it’s been forever since I’ve sampled her, and because she looks so perfect and vulnerable bound to the chair in her skimpy pajamas, and just because I want to and I’m not sure she’ll ever give me the opportunity again, I stand slightly and kiss her.

  Somewhat surprisingly, she responds eagerly, her lips matching me as I keep kissing her. And keep kissing her. My hands tangle in her hair. I get aggressive. I nip at her lower lip. I swallow her taste. I fuck her mouth with my tongue. I pour everything into this kiss, and all I can think about is how, despite being so hard my balls hurt, I just want to keep kissing her and kissing her. And kissing her.

  I’m pretty sure this has strong implications for what kind of feelings I’m developing over the girl. Feelings that scare the fuck out of me. Feelings that make me want to do naughty, terrible things to the girl tied up beneath me. Feelings that are more instinctual in nature than emotional.

  A blaring alarm in my head says I’m not ready for this. That it needs to stop. That I should pull away and leave before this relationship gets out of hand.

  The twisting in my gut says I’m too late. It’s already out of hand.

  And if it’s happening anyway, I might as well stay.

  Right?

  9

  With her hands still bound behind her, I tilt Genevieve’s chair back against the desk.

  She gasps, the movement surprising her. “What are you doing?”

  Honest answer? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know at all.

  I test how secure it is, which is pretty darn secure. “Remember all you have to do is say stop and I will. You understand?”

  She nods, but her expression is unsure. “That doesn’t tell me what you’re doing.”

  I consider explaining but have no idea what I’d say. This is instinct I’m going on right now. “Do you want me to stop?”